“My Lord,” exclaimed the other, in a deprecating tone, “I meant no offence, upon my honor.”

“I have taken none,” replied his lordship; “but I must teach you to understand me.  Whatever my son’s conduct may be, one thing is evident, that you are his apologist; now, as a moral man, anxious for the happiness of your child, I tell you that you ought to have exchanged positions with me; it is you who, when about to intrust your daughter to him for life, ought to have investigated his moral character and habits, and manifested an anxiety to satisfy yourself whether they were such as would reflect honor upon her, and secure her peace of mind and tranquillity in the married state.  You say, too, that I do not speak of my son in a kind or parental feeling; but do you imagine, sir, that, engaged as I am here, in a confidential and important conference, the result of which may involve the happiness or misery of two persons so dear to us both, I would be justified in withholding the truth, or lending myself to a course of dishonorable deception?”

He sat down again, and seemed deeply affected.

“God knows,” he said, “that I love that wild and unthinking young man, perhaps more than I ought; but do you imagine, sir, that, because I have spoken of him with the freedom necessary and due to the importance and solemnity of our object in meeting, I could or would utter such sentiments to the world at large?  I pray you, sir, then, to make and observe the distinction; and, instead of assailing me for want of affection as a parent, to thank me for the candor with which I have spoken.”

The baronet felt subdued; it is evident that his mind was too coarse and selfish to understand the delicacy, the truth, and high, conscientious feeling with which Lord Cullamore conducted his part of this negotiation.

“My lord,” said the baronet, who thought of another point on which to fall back, “there is one circumstance, one important fact, which we have both unaccountably overlooked, and which, after all, holds out a greater promise of domestic happiness between these young persons than anything we have thought of.  His lordship is attached to my daughter.  Now, where there is love, my lord, there is every chance and prospect of happiness in the married life.”

“Yes, if it be mutual, Sir Thomas; everything depends on that.  I am glad, however, you mentioned it.  There is some hope left still; but alas, alas! what is even love when opposed to selfishness and ambition?  I could—­I myself could——­” he seemed deeply moved, and paused for some time, as if unwilling to trust himself with speech—­“Yes, I am glad you mentioned it, and I thank you, Sir Thomas, I thank you.  I should wish to see these two young people happy.  I believe he is attached to your daughter, and I will now mention a fact which certainly proves it.  The gentleman with whom he fought that unfortunate duel was forced into it by Dunroe, in consequence of his having paid some marked attentions to Miss Gourlay, when she and her mother were in Paris, some few months before Lady Gourlay’s decease.  I did not wish to mention this before, out of respect for your daughter; but I do so now, confidentially, of course, in consequence of the turn our conversation has taken.”